


Les Mis Whumptober 2020

by fandomtrashiness



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Begging, Betrayal, Blackmail, Blood, Body Image, Boot Worship, Branding, Canon Era, Coercion, Collars, Cuddling, Depression, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Gallows, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, Grantaire Angst, Grantaire Has Self-Esteem Issues (Les Misérables), Hanging, Humiliation, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Improper witchcraft, M/M, Minimal fluff, Montparnasse Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification, Panic Attacks, Patron-Minette - Freeform, Pining, Pining Grantaire (Les Misérables), Platonic Cuddling, Possession, Restraints, Rituals, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Swearing, The Thénardier's A+ Parenting, Torturing the roommate of the guy you like to be romantic, Toxic Relationship, Uhhhh technically Grantaire/Montparnasse, Violence, Warnings are at the beginning of each chapter, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, Witchcraft, Witches, but not the sexy kind, i'll update character tags as i go, shackles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 12,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomtrashiness/pseuds/fandomtrashiness
Summary: The Whumptober 2020 challenge, Les Mis style! Each chapter is standalone and follows the official Whumptober prompt of the day. This is gonna be super angsty, warnings at the beginning of every chapter.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 40





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime (Shackles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME  
> Shackled
> 
> Enjolras is a prince and Grantaire is a servant, and they're in a secret relationship. Enjolras is engaged to Lord Montparnasse (against his will). What will happen when Montparnasse discovers Grantaire in Enjolras' room?
> 
> Warnings for: Using whore as an insult, whore shaming, really just general Montparnasse creepiness so if non/con vibes without it being explicit trigger you, be warned
> 
> Grantaire's POV

I wring my hands nervously and straighten my waistcoat again.

Enjolras is late, he’s never late.

He told me to wait in his chambers, that he would meet me at exactly five o clock, but it’s half past and he’s not here.

Maybe he got caught up in a meeting?

But he would’ve told me if he had one on his schedule today.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the door creaking open, it must be Enjolras!

I prepare myself to berate him for keeping me waiting, but standing in the doorway-

“Who are you?” Lord Montparnasse asks snidely, eyeing me up and down.

I stumble over my own feet as he enters the room, shutting the door behind him.

“I-I’m cleaning his highness’ chambers-” I stammer, cursing myself for not having a broom or anything to even throw off the scent of my true intentions.

“Mhm.” Montparnasse steps further into the room. “Prince Enjolras is in a meeting with his father, I came here to fetch him a spare quill. And here I find you, a servant, out of uniform, clearly snooping someplace he’s not supposed to be.”

“My lord-” I start to say, but Montparnasse is right in front of me and pressing a pale finger to my lips.

“I am his fiance, finding another man waiting in his room, a man of lower status than the mud on my boots. I should call the guards on you.” He says, a smile curling across his thin lips. “I’m going to ask once, and you are going to answer me honestly, understand?”

I nod meekly.

“Excellent. Why are you in the prince’s chambers?”

“I-He asked me to come.”

Not a lie, but not the full truth.

“Did he now? To clean them?” He raises an eyebrow, he sees right through me.

“Yes.” I reply, my voice cracking.

Montparnasse’s palm crashes against my cheek, his rings stinging my skin, and my head snaps to the side.

“The truth, before I call the guards and have you thrown in the dungeon.” He snarls.

Somehow I think the dungeon might be a better call.

“He wished to use my talents.” I say awkwardly, looking down.

Technically still not a lie, because our plan was to make out before he was summoned to dinner.

“Oh…” Montparnasse’s eyes shine with the revelation. “You’re a castle whore.”

I bite my lip to keep from spitting a retort out at the nobleman, knowing telling him I’m not a whore would be my undoing.

The point of being in a secret relationship with the crown prince is that it remains a secret. I could have my head chopped off for people finding out that Enjolras and I fell in love.

But I’m not a whore. He loves me.

He really loves me, I know he does.

My hands are curling themselves into fists, and I press my nails into my palms.

“Ugly for a whore.” Montparnasse notes, circling me now.

Keeping my mouth shut is clearly going to be a struggle.

“And you see, my dear fiance told me just this morning that he would never use someone like property, and that he found me revolting for doing so.” Montparnasse continues slowly, behind me now.

Fuck.

He’s going to figure it out, he’s going to guess, I’m screwed, Enjolras is screwed.

“Why are you really here.” Montparnasse purrs in my ear, and I feel cold metal against my throat.

A dagger.

“We’re friends.” I say carefully. “He’s friends with a lot of the servants, I’m sure you’ve heard his speech about the equality of man.”

“And he invited you to his chambers?” Montparnasse replies coolly. 

“Yes.”

I feel the dagger dig a bit deeper into my throat, and I tense up.

“You love him.” Montparnasse whispers, and I can feel his breath on me.

I don’t make a move to confirm or deny this, but Montparnasse seems set now.

And me, I’m frozen in fear, the very moment I’ve always dreaded playing out in front of me.

Those months of bliss with Enjolras, I knew it would have to end someday, but for all of it to come crashing down so suddenly is jarring.

The feeling of metal shackles locking around my wrists is what unfreezes me, but by the time I’ve come to my senses enough to struggle it’s too late.

My hands are fastened securely behind me in chains, my ankles in the same fashion.

“I’ll call for the guards-” I manage to choke out, but Montparnasse only laughs.

“I am a nobleman, the lord Montparnasse.” He sneers, grabbing me by my shirt collar. “They won’t believe a servant over the prince’s fiance. Especially a servant who claims the prince loves him over said fiance.”

He shoves me backwards, and I fall onto Enjolras’ bed, chains rattling.

“Are you really foolish enough to believe he loves you?” I snarl back.

“Oh I know he doesn’t love me. And I don’t pretend to love him. Love is fake, boy.” He grabs me by the shirt collar again and lifts me slightly, and the fabric starts to tear. “I’m marrying him for the power, he’s marrying me by mandate of his father. We both know that. This…”

He literally rips my shirt from my body, and the shackles prevent me from even covering up my now bare skin with my hands.

“This just makes everything all the more fun.” He smirks. “My fiance, the prince who hates me, has a secret lover that’s a servant. Really, all the more leverage for me.”

“I am not leverage.” I growl.

“Oh, darling…” Montparnasse tuts. “You’re a servant. You’re worth absolutely nothing. But I think you’ll be a nice opportunity to make sure my fiance stays in line…”

I pull against the shackles again, and Montparnasse is suddenly on the bed next to me, holding me down.

“Get your hands off!” I shriek, but before I can cry out again Montparnasse is shoving my ripped shirt into my mouth.

“Quiet.” He says dangerously, and he’s undoing the shackles, but keeping a tight grip on my wrists. “You said you’re Enjolras’ whore, I’ll treat you like one.”

I struggle against Montparnasse’s grip, but he’s taller and stronger than me.

He’s binding my wrists to the bedposts with the shackles, and as I struggle with the strain in my arms he unbinds my ankles and does the same, leaving me spread-eagled, gagged, and shirtless on Enjolras’ bed.

“Mmhm!”

I jerk in the shackles holding me to the bed, trying desperately to get free, but to no avail.

Montparnasse’s cruel and cold laugh pierces my ears, and I feel my face grow hot with shame.

“All tied up for him like a little Christmas present.” Montparnasse mocks sweetly.

“Mhm!” I know screaming curses through my gag does nothing, but I keep trying.

“Now I have to go to dinner with the whole royal family, and your Enjolras of course. You behave nicely now while you wait.” Montparnasse drawls, patting me slightly on the head, like a dog. “Because after dinner, Enjolras and I will return here, and he’ll be ready to argue with me about why I am despicable, and find you tied up and half naked on his bed. And you’re all I need to make sure Enjy lets me have full control over the kingdom when we’re married.”

And he’s gone, out the door, I’m left alone, bound and gagged in Enjolras’ chambers, left to await whatever fate will befall me when my lover and his cruel fiance return.


	2. In the Hands Of the Enemy (Collar)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY  
> Collars
> 
> Enjolras is a vampire, his father offers him a bloodslave. To spare the man from being at the mercy (or lack thereof) of his father, Enjolras accepts the gift. (The vampire lore in this is not in a lot of detail so don't come at me, I wrote this purely for the whump)
> 
> warnings: slavery, objectification of people, sort of implied sexual slavery??

“Happy birthday, Enjolras.” My father greets as I step into the parlor.

In front of him there’s a man, kneeling. The man is staring right at me, and he has the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen. The man is draped in some sort of silk garment, and has no shoes on his feet.

“He’s yours, son.” My father says, and he holds out a box to me.

“I don’t want a blood slave.” I say tensely, trying to hand the box back.

“You’d rather starve?” My father asks.

“Yes.” I answer firmly.

My father’s face reddens with anger. He clearly expected a different answer.

“Fine then.” He says. “Fine.”

He’s not fine, he’s fucking pissed off.

“I’ll take him then.” He says, and now he’s smiling again.

“Wait-” I start to say, but my father snatches the box away from me again.

“You can starve for all I care.” He says, opening the box.

He pulls out a deep red leather collar, with a ring attached to clip a leash to.

I know exactly how my father treats his blood slaves, am I in a way at fault for what happens to this man if I let my father take him?

But keeping a slave myself goes against everything I’ve ever believed, I could never collar a human and force them to kneel at my feet.

But I can’t very well change society if I’m too weak to leave my bed from lack of nourishment.

“I’ll take him.” I murmur quietly.

“What was that?” My father croons sweetly, smiling wide. He knows he’s won.

“I will accept your gift.” I grit out. I reach out my hand for the collar, and my father gives it to me.

“I knew you’d come around.” He leers. “Go on, collar it.”

I look down at the man’s face again, pale and clearly frightened.

I bite my tongue to keep from correcting my father, I’m sure he’ll take this man away from me if he realizes I intend to treat him kindly.

I lock the collar around the man’s throat as gently as possible, noticing the horrific way he flinches at my touch.

“You’ll have to train that out of him.” My father remarks.

“Of course.” I reply stiffly. “I’m going to take him to my room now to feed.”

“Be at the main hall at six, I’ve invited guests tonight.”

“Of course. Your friends for my birthday.” I say sarcastically.

“You’ll be glad to know I invited Monsieur Combeferre and the Baron de Courfeyrac.”

“I’ll see you at six.” I reply icilly. “Follow me.” I say, a bit softer, to my new slave.

The man follows me on his hands and knees, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from protesting that. When I reach my room I can, safely away from my father.

We get to my room, and I quickly lock the door. The man kneels in the center of the room.

I turn to him, rocking a bit on the balls of my feet.

“I’m Enjolras.” I say nervously.

“It is an honor to be owned by you, Master.” The man leans forward and kisses the toes of my shoes.

“Please don’t call me Master.” I say quickly. “Enjolras will do fine. What is your name?”

“You may call me whatever pleases you, sir.” The man lowers his head a bit.

“I don’t intend on using you as a slave. Have you heard of abolitionists?”

The man ducks his head lower, and I see his shoulders tense.

“I swear I won’t betray you Master, I’ll be obedient, I won’t-”

“I am an abolitionist of sorts. As much as I can be. I accepted you to keep you away from my father, he is a vicious man. I don’t intend on harming you in any way or making you serve me, I believe that humans have the same natural born rights as vampires.”

“Is this a test?” The man asks, voice shaking.

“No. I can prove it, here.” I turn to my cluttered desk and grab one of my recent writings off of it, with Combeferre’s notes scribbled in the margins. I hand the man the paper, and he takes it very tenderly.

“My name is Grantaire.” He says eventually.

“I wish we might’ve met under better circumstances, Grantaire. Do you believe me? That I wish to help you?”

“I do. Which is probably a mistake, but I suppose I’ve seen the worst of punishments for disobedience, so it really can’t be too terrible when you tell me it’s a test.”

“Right, uh…” I don’t know what to do. I wish Combeferre and Courfeyrac were here, they always know what to say. “You can sit on my bed, if you like.”

Grantaire hesitates before rising to his feet. He sits on the very edge of the bed, and now that he’s risen from his knees I see how revealing his silken robes are.

“I’ll get you some proper clothes.” I say hurriedly, rushing to my wardrobe. “I didn’t realize…” I trail off, once again speechless. I distance myself from my father as much as I can, and if I can’t do that I try to not focus on his slaves. It’s an indignity to them, and to be honest the concept of slavery terrifies me.

I know it is my privilege to be able to look away while people are suffering, and I guess my twenty-first birthday is good for that reason.

I’m a born vampire, not a made one, meaning at the age of twenty one I drink my first drop of human blood and become fully immortal.

And I need to be confronted with this, if I’m going to make any real difference in the world. I can talk all I like, but it does nothing if I am not acting for justice.

I shut my eyes as I hand Grantaire a pair of trousers and a shirt, which he laughs at.

“I’ve already lost my dignity by being sold as a slave, Apollo.” He chuckles, and I hear the rustle of fabric as he pulls the clothes on. “You can look now.”

I open my eyes, blushing.

“Apollo?” I ask.

“You look like the fair god Apollo. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”

“I have. But you don’t need to pretend to be attracted to me, I promise you I don’t intend to do anything to you.”

“Except drink my blood.”

“I won’t do that, Grantaire.”

He looks at me with those stunning green eyes, puzzled.

“It wouldn’t be right. You can’t properly give consent, not under these circumstances.”

Grantaire scoffs again. “Consent.”

“Yes. Consent.” I repeat. “I won’t torture you I can’t harm someone like that.”

“You need blood to survive.” Grantaire states.

“Not to live. I’ll starve, but I can survive without blood.”

“You’ll survive weak and helpless, unable to even lift a quill. I don’t see how that does the slaves you’re trying to free any good.”

“I-”

“Simply pointing it out.” Grantaire says, putting up his hands in mock surrender. “I would consent, I can deal with great pain. And if it sustains you-”

“The pain isn’t the question.” I say quickly. “Well-it is-”

“You’re stammering, dear Apollo.” Grantaire is leaning up against my pillows now, one leg draped over the other.

“There are two ways for me to bite. It can be excruciatingly painful for you, or,” my face reddens again, “Pleasurable. The pheromones released would cause you to beg for more, would make you… aroused. Even if you consented to living here with me, which you didn’t, you can’t withdraw consent once I’ve released the pheromones. Without the pheromones, however, it’s the greatest deal of pain. But with-”

“I’d rather pleasure than pain.” Grantaire cuts in. “I realize I can’t fully give consent, due to the fact that I am still technically your property, but if we were not in these circumstances I certainly would buy you a drink.”

“But we are in these circumstances.” I remind him. “Oh this is so confusing…”

I stumble suddenly, dizzy, my head is spinning in circles around me.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire cries out, and quickly moves off my bed to support me.

One arm wraps around my shoulders, while the other snakes around my waist. He helps me lay down on my bed, and he sits beside me on top of the covers, looking concerned.

“You’re hungry.” He says.

“I-”

“I’m not letting you starve.”

He puts out his wrist in front of my face, and if I were standing my knees would buckle at the gorgeous scent he is emitting.

“I can’t-” I need to keep my head, I cannot let this consume me, I have to be better than my father-

“Bite, Enjolras.” Grantaire says softly. “Please.”

I nod slowly, using the lightest movement to bring Grantaire’s wrist closer to me, and sink my fangs- I have fangs now! -into the soft skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize i didnt really make the collar the focal point of this, but i love the collar trope so expect to see it in later parts of my whumptober!


	3. My Way or The Highway (Manhandled, forced to knees, held at gunpoint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY  
> Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint
> 
> Jean Prouvaire is taken hostage at the barricade.
> 
> warnings: death, guns, gunshot wounds, manhandling, ropes, touching (not sexual)
> 
> POV: Jean Prouvaire

Enjolras said they wouldn’t take prisoners. He said to expect to be killed, but not to be taken prisoner.

I don’t really know when I’m grabbed during the fighting, just that I sort of fall down the heap of furniture and land nearly on top of a bayonet.

I’m grabbed roughly and dragged when the shooting stops, when the retreat is called.

I can feel the hands all over me.

My ears are ringing, I can’t hear anything the guardsmen around me are saying.

But I can feel everything.

I can’t smell either, I must’ve inhaled powder.

But my skin feels as if it’s on fire, every touch magnified.

My sight has been stripped of me as well, there’s a blindfold tied tightly over my eyes.

Touch, that’s what I have left.

Strong arms binding me in rope, thick and coarse, the touch a cruel cousin of Bahorel’s famous bear hugs.

I’m shoved around by all the guardsmen, I think I hear laughter past the ringing.

And eventually hands land on my shoulders, shoving to the ground, on my knees.

It’s undignified, and would be embarrassing if I had no pride.

But I know I am enduring this for a cause.

Our cause, the people’s cause.

I fought bravely with my brothers, and I knew it would end this way, with a bullet to the head, and I know I am a martyr for the people.

My blood water the gardens of tomorrow’s France.

I try and keep my posture straight, even with the bullet wound in my leg from the fighting and the rough hands that I know are gone but I can still feel touching me, shoving me, trying to control me.

I don’t cry, I know now is not the time for tears.

My friends know me to weep easily, just from a poem or a bird’s one feather fallen to the ground, and I see nothing wrong with crying.

But now I must be strong, must show no fear, must not let the guardsmen think they have broken me.

I feel something cold and hard at the back of my head, a gun.

It is almost time.

I hold my chin up high, knowing the guardsmen will want to see me submit.

“Vive la France! Long live France! Long live the future!” I cry out, as loudly as my lungs can manage, hoping that my brothers will hear my call and rise to avenge our dear country.

And the feeling of the unwanted touch is gone, I am falling, falling,

falling


	4. Running Out Of Time (Caged)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME   
> Caged
> 
> pick any era or au, it's not super specific
> 
> Enjolras must make a deal with the Thenardiers to free Grantaire.
> 
> warnings: referenced abuse, a cage, objectification of people, sort of mention of prostitution, the thenardiers general awfulness, grantaires low self esteem
> 
> Enjolras' POV

“We have to be civil.” Combeferre says, for what seems like the thousandth time.

“Their letter wasn’t particularly civil.” Courfeyrac grumbles. “Calling Grantaire a-”

“Regardless.” I cut in. “They have Grantaire, and what matters is we bargain his release.”

“They want us to bring them Éponine! We can’t gamble our friends like cards, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac crosses his arms.

“We’re obviously not making Éponine return here.” I reply calmly. “And we’re not leaving Grantaire either. We need to see if we can reach a compromise.”

Combeferre nods and takes my hand.

I strengthen my resolve and step into Thénardier’s inn.

M. and Mme. Thénardier are bickering in the center of the room, but what catches my eye immediately is what's behind them.

Grantaire, shoved into a birdcage, swinging a few feet over the ground. The cage is large, but he still barely fits. He’s sitting, head ducked low, knees drawn up to his chest. I can hear quiet sobs as the cage sways slightly.

I hear Courfeyrac gasp beside me, and feel Combeferre’s hand is squeezing mine.

“Thénardier. We came as you asked.” I say, trying desperately to keep my voice steady. “Let Grantaire down.”

“Not until you bring me what I asked for.” M. Thénardier says slyly. He seems almost happy with this situation.

“Éponine is a person, not property.” I insist. “It was her choice to leave here, and I’m not bringing her back here against her will. People cannot be bargained like things.”

“Then Grantaire stays right here with us.” M. Thénardier replies, and he shoves the cage a little.

Grantaire whimpers as it rocks, the chain holding it up creaking.

“You can’t do this!” Combeferre cries out, and he’s nearly squeezing the circulation out of my hand.

“You stole my daughter from me!” Mme. Thénardier shrieks in anger.

“You abused her!” I shout back. “We saved Éponine, we helped her! And we are never letting you get ahold of her again!”

“Just give us what we want, Enjolras. You can keep the boy, we just want our daughter back.” Mme. Thénardier says, voice sweet.

“They’re your children, not property.” Courfeyrac says bitingly. “Éponine and Gavroche chose to leave you.”

“Fine.” M. Thénardier says stiffly. “Then go. Keep them.”

“Give us Grantaire back.” I repeat.

“No. He’s ours now.” M. Thénardier smirks.

“That’s not how it works!” Courfeyrac’s face is bright red, he’s angry as all hell.

“He’ll make the money we’re no longer making with Éponine gone.” Mme. Thénardier says simply.

“We can pay you.” Combeferre says, his voice suddenly very quiet.

“Five thousand francs.” M. Thénardier snaps quickly. “That’s our price.”

“I-” Combeferre splutters.

“It’s finders keepers, Enjolras. No one will miss one drunkard, no one except you little schoolboys, and thus he is ours for the taking.” M. Thénardier sneers. “Ours for the money making.”

Grantaire curls up a bit tighter in the cage.

“Five thousand francs.” I say firmly. “Fine. You’ll have the money.”

“Excellent!” M. Thénardier says, pleased, clasping his hands together. “Although our price is higher now. Ten thousand.”

“Fine then. Let Grantaire go now.” I reply, gritting my teeth.

“Do you happen to have ten thousand francs on you?” Mme. Thénardier asks.

“Combeferre, go to my flat, fetch the money. You know where.” I say, keeping my eyes trained firmly on the floor.

No one knows about my hidden stash of money, it’s only for emergencies, but I still feel ashamed to have taken it when leaving home.

“I’m staying here with Grantaire until Combeferre returns with the money.” I inform the Thénardiers.

“Right then. A pleasure doing business.” M. Thénardier nods, and Combeferre goes quickly.

“Since we’ll be taking him home, I need to make sure he is unharmed.” I say, hoping my voice is still level.

I don’t wait for a response, I stride right over to Grantaire’s cage.

I reach through the bars to stroke his hair, and he whimpers and shakes, the cage trembling with him.

“R, it’s me, it’s Enjolras. Combeferre is bringing the money, I’ll get you out soon.” I whisper softly.

“Apollo?” Grantaire asks, his voice choked up. He raises his head and I see tears staining his face.

“Yes, Grantaire. It’s me.”

I don’t dare call him love, not in front of the Thénardiers.

“Not worth the money.” He mumbles, dropping his head again. “Not worth that much. Should’ve left me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I berate lightly. “Grantaire-”

“Take me if you wish but it’s a waste. You’ll grow tired of me too soon and wish you left me when you could have.”

“I could never tire of you-”

“This place would have broken me for you, and you could’ve even stopped by to pay for my pleasures again, if it amused you. Even then it’s only a few sous, not too much waste.”

“You’re worth everything to me, Grantaire!” I cry out, frustrated.

“I am worth nothing.” He whispers quietly, and the only sound that fills the room until Combeferre returns with the francs is the creaking of the chain suspending Grantaire’s cage in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if yall have requests for certain aus or situations, let me know! i vary a lot, and i'm open to hearing what you guys want!


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going? (Failed escape)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?  
> Failed Escape
> 
> Grantaire fails again at escaping the Patron-Minette, mainly Montparnasse.
> 
> warnings: referenced kidnapping, toxic relationship, manipulation, darkness, small space, coercion, grantaires awful self esteem, montparnasse is a manipulative piece of shit, tagging again for toxicity and manipulation
> 
> Grantaire's POV

“Where do you think you’re going?” The silky voice of Montparnasse stops me in my tracks, long enough for a snap of the man’s thin fingers to cue Claquesous and Brujon to grab me, pinning my arms behind my back and lifting me slightly off the ground.

“Away from you.” I spit.

I shouldn’t have been so stupid.

I thought I could make it, thought my feet could carry me away fast enough, thought Montparnasse was too thick to have guards keeping watch, and I really should’ve known better than to hope.

Hope is for idiots, I always tell Enjolras.

Why can’t I listen to my own fucking advice?

Because of Enjolras, that’s fucking why.

One dream about the man’s blonde curls and sharp convictions and I’m suddenly convinced I have a chance of escape from the Patron-Minette.

I became just as stupid and hopeful as the leader in red himself.

“Oh darling…” Montparnasse laughs, stepping close to me. I writhe in the goons’ grip, but they’re both much larger and stronger than me.

Maybe I could’ve taken them if I kept in shape during my captivity, practiced my boxing alone, but the joyful thought of Bahorel and the boxing gym always stung my heart too much to get up the resolve to.

“I’m never letting you go, surely you know that by now? But perhaps you need another lesson…” His fingertips lazily trace my jawline and lips, and I flinch away from his touch. “Lock him in the spare room.” Montparnasse says finally, turning from me. “We’ll see if a few days alone does him any good.”

“No!” I scream, before I can help myself.

Not again, I can’t be locked alone in the dark again.

Just me, alone with my thoughts, pitch black, no food, crushingly little space, not enough air to breathe, so so alone-

I can feel myself being dragged down the hallway, and I weakly fight back.

I think I might be screaming pleas, but I’m not sure if they’re actually real or just in my head.

I know when Montparnasse finally lets me out I’ll be begging.

Begging for him, begging for mercy, for a bed, food, anything he’ll give me.

Begging for his company as reprieve from my loneliness.

I know it’s exactly what he wants, and I can’t let him win.

I can’t!

I’m shoved into the small closet, and the door slams shut before I can try and rush to it.

The lock clicks clearly, but I keep pounding my fists against the wood.

I feel something wet on my hand, am I crying?

Fuck, I can’t be.

I can’t let him win, I can’t cry.

I can’t beg, I can’t.

“Please Montparnasse!” I find myself screaming.

I curse myself as I slump against the back wall of the closet, sobbing.

I’m weak.

Pathetic.

Maybe Montparnasse was right.

It’s not like any of my friends tried to come find me.

All my escape attempts do is get me into more trouble.

I’m really just an annoyance to my friends, they pity me.

I need Montparnasse, I need the kindness he can offer.

I need to obey.

As soon as he lets me out, I’ll be good.

I’ll make sure I am.

The amis don’t want me, they never did.

I’m a useless cynical drunk, all I do is bring them down.

Enjolras especially, I know he loathes me and my constant criticisms.

They’re probably glad to be rid of me, actually.

Montparnasse is doing me a favor, I should be grateful.

He took me in and offered to love me when no one else will.

It’s more than I deserve, I was ridiculous to fight it before.

“Please.” I whimper, lips pressed against the door. “Please, ‘Parnasse…”

What if he gave up on me?

I was so rude to him, so awful.

Just like I am to everyone.

I did exactly what made the amis despise me.

Montparnasse gave me a chance and I ruined it.

“I’ll be good.” I sob, throat dry.

I could never be enough for Enjolras.

I’m too worthless for him, too ugly, too lazy, too cynical.

Montparnasse promised to love me, to keep me.

And I refused him.

I was rude and awful and I don’t even deserve for him to take me back.

The door opens, and I collapse forward into the cool air of the hallway.

I look up through red eyes, I can see Montparnasse standing above me.

Beautiful Montparnasse, who gave me a chance, who showed me the truth.

“It seems like those three days did you some good. You couldn’t stop begging when day two hit, it was so lovely to hear, R.” His voice is soft and gentle, and I melt at the sound of it.

“I love you.” I whisper frantically. “I love you, I missed you, I’m sorry for being bad.”

“I forgive you, dearest.” He croons.

I’m so grateful that the tears start again, and I press reverent kisses to his boots to show him that.

“Thank you, Montparnasse.” I sigh.

He strokes my hair. “I knew you’d want to stay.”


	6. Please... (No more, "stop please")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 6. PLEASE….   
> No More | “Stop, please”
> 
> POV: Enjolras
> 
> warnings for: drinking, harsh language, alcohol abuse, all of grantaire's insecurities
> 
> sorry this is a day late, i had a panic attack yesterday so i didnt write to try and take some self care time.

“I just think you’re idealizing people here.” Grantaire shrugs, lifting the wine bottle to his lips again.

“I didn’t realize you could think when you’re that drunk.” I snap back.

Grantaire lets out a hearty laugh, and I can feel fire bubbling up in my throat.

“Sometimes better than you, Apollo.” He raises his bottle to me in a mock toast, and I grab it quickly, not caring about the crack I hear when I wrench it away from his hand.

“Enjolras-” He gasps, his hand recoiling, but I don’t let him finish.

“No. You’re going to let me finish a sentence for once. You are a useless, degenerate ingrate, with no sense of respect for our sacred cause.” I say, and feel all of my pent up aggression flowing out through my voice.

His months of constant criticism and attacks on my arguments have finally gotten to me, I can’t stand him anymore.

I lift the bottle high in the air for everyone in the back room to see.

“Those who don’t see the light of our revolution drown themselves in drink!” I cry out, my speech beginning anew. “They say they are being reasonable, they say we can never overthrow the tyrant kings, and yet they let themselves be ruled by liquor. The nectar of the kings, a drink for the rich. But our dear cynic starves himself, lives in rags, just so he can afford one more bottle. It’s pathetic, the levels a drunk will stoop to for drink. He knows how deeply flawed he is, he knows he will never be anything, that’s why he drinks.”

“Stop, please-” I hear Grantaire whimper, but I hold my head high and ignore him, my eyes locked onto the green of the bottle in my hand.

“He knows he is the filth of the street, and does nothing to try and rise up. He mocks those who are brave enough to, he ridicules our revolution, our knowing of the truth of the equality of man, simply because he doesn’t want to get off his fat arse long enough to actually claim his own freedom. This bottle is his savior, his hope, his love. A poison he drowns himself in, the only thing he can truly love. For a drunken cynic cannot love, cannot see anything past the haze of wine before him. No, he thinks only of himself, not of his people. And he knows that he himself is barely anything to think of, useless and hopeless and unloved and ugly.” I spit the words out, loving the burning I feel as they leave my tongue.

“Enjolras! No more!” Combeferre all but shouts at me, his voice harsh. I lock eyes with my guide, already enraged that he is condoning Grantaire’s interruptions, but Combeferre simply jerks his head towards the cynic, and I can’t help but follow his gaze.

And that’s when I see the tears streaming down Grantaire’s face.


	7. I've Got You (Support, Carrying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 7. I’VE GOT YOU   
> Support | Carrying 
> 
> Grantaire's POV
> 
> Grantaire helps Éponine after a rough night
> 
> warnings for: blood, injury, implied abuse

I know something’s wrong when I hear a knock on my door.

It’s nearly one in the morning, who the hell is stopping by and bothering to knock?

Someone who knows I’m stupid enough to open the door, which is exactly what I do.

Éponine practically collapses into my arms, and I quickly take her weight as I shut the door.

“Ép…” I murmur quietly, fully lifting her into my arms.

She groans in response.

“Rough night?” I ask, and I carry her to my bed, setting her gently down upon the worn blanket.

“Yeah.” She mumbles.

Her face is littered with fresh bruises, and there’s some blood on her blouse.

“The usual?”

She nods in confirmation.

“I’ll kill him one day.” I say under my breath, and I grab a nearby rag and soak it in water.

“I heard that, R.” Éponine calls.

“Thénardier deserves it.” I say, pressing the rag to Éponine’s face.

She winces, but doesn’t make a sound.

We’ve done this before, too many times to count.

One of us gets in a scrape, the other does cleanup at my flat.

I slide next to Éponine on my bed, and the thin mattress creaks in protest.

I let her adjust the wet rag on her face as I wrap my arms around her.

She lets herself melt into my embrace, and I hum contentedly.

“I’ve got you, Ép.” I reassure her. “Always.”

“Enjy will get jealous.” She quips, but I can hear her smile.

“Oh let him. If he’s thick enough to think I’d lay with a woman, much less my best friend, he’s clearly not going to realize the affections I carry for him.” I say passively.

“Well I feel as if I should be insulted.”

“Maybe I’ll change my name to Marius.” I tease.

Éponine snorts.

“Why do we love idiots?” She asks wistfully.

“For it is our fate.” I reply simply.

I pull Éponine closer to me, and she curls into my embrace.

“We’ve got each other.” She says resolutely. “Two lovesick fools.”

“On our own together.” I agree.


	8. Where Did Everybody Go? (Isolation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?   
> Isolation
> 
> POV: Grantaire
> 
> warnings: grantaires bad self esteem, self hatred, body image issues, depression

I hear the pounding on the door, but I don’t answer it.

I stay immobile on the floor, empty bottles scattered around me.

I’m flat on my stomach, my face is directly against the floor.

My nose is squashing painfully against the hard wood, but I don’t bother shifting.

I deserve the pain, and even if I didn’t, no one would really care about it anyways.

Certainly not Joly, who is banging his cane against the door to my flat, or Bahorel who is trying to curse me out through the lock.

“No one’s seen you all week!” Courfeyrac’s desperate voice calls.

That’s kind of the fucking point.

It’s what they all want anyways.

Even if I opened the door all they would do is turn away in disgust, or even worse, laugh at me.

I can handle them hating me, handle them not wanting me.

It’s the laughing I can’t stand.

The jeering, the insults, the taunts, the humiliation.

They can kick me out, it would’ve been so much better if they kicked me out.

I know why they keep me around.

They pity me, they think I’m a good show.

Watch Grantaire get drunk and make a fool of himself.

No thank you, I’ll shut myself up in my flat until they decide it’s less effort to forget me.

I don’t need friends, I don’t.

I’m fine alone.

No one to make fun of me except me.

I was stupid to think they’d want me.

To think an ugly drunk like me deserves friends.

Or that they’d want me for anything other than someone to laugh at.

I don’t need sweet Jehan, who I can hear crying past the door, or Feuilly or Bossuet, both of whom are trying to lure me out with bad jokes.

No.

I won’t fall for it.

I will not be their puppet, their court jester.

I’m just fine sitting alone all day with my wine and paint.

They don’t want me, at least not for me.

They don’t want me.

I deserve this, I deserve to be alone, I need it-

“Please.” Enjolras’ voice calls.

I stumble to my feet and open the door.


	9. For the Greater Good (Ritual Sacrifice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD   
> Ritual Sacrifice
> 
> POV: Jean Prouvaire
> 
> this is inaccurate on purpose, montparnasse knows nothing about witchcraft and is just trying to impress jehan. both jehan and musichetta are witches.
> 
> warnings: blood, improper use of pentagrams, knives, montparnasse being a creep

All I want to do when I get home is collapse on the couch, eat popcorn, and watch Halloween Wars with Grantaire.

I fumble with my keys, but eventually my tired hands get the door to my apartment open and step inside.

The lights are all off, which is strange, because Grantaire should be home.

There’s no way he went to bed this early, he always stays up until at least one.

I step further into the living room, kicking my shoes off, and see why.

In the middle of the living room, the sofa pushed against the wall now, there is a large glitter pentagram, surrounded by red candles.

And in the middle of the pentagram, completely naked, is Grantaire.

I open my mouth to ask him what the actual Hell he did, but then I notice the chains.

Honest to gosh chains wrapped around Grantaire’s wrists and ankles, pinning him to the floor in a starfish position.

There’s a piece of wadded up fabric lodged in his mouth, and I can hear muffled swears coming through.

Well this isn’t fucking good.

“Hi darling!” A chipper voice calls, and I lift my eyes from the scene of my living room floor to see Montparnasse standing at the head of it all.

See, Montparnasse asked me out last week and I said no.

End of that.

He’s a family friend of Éponine’s, and when he stopped by the Musain with her, he struck up a conversation with me and then promptly asked me out.

I politely declined, because I don’t know him, and Éponine hates her parents, so anyone who likes her parents is a red flag.

Well now he’s here in my living room with my roommate chained up on my floor.

“What the actual fuck?” I ask incredulously, subtly slipping my hand into the pocket of my jeans. I carefully press against the screen, hoping I picked the right buttons to call Combeferre.

“Well, you mentioned you do magic and spells and things, and tonight’s a full moon, so I thought I’d surprise you!” Montparnasse says excitedly. “I thought you’d want to do a sacrifice, so I set up a pretty pentagram, I think the glitter was a good choice on my part, and there was already something here to sacrifice! I’m so sorry, I was too excited, I started without you, but we can slit its throat together.”

Holy fuck, Montparnasse is holding a long silver knife. It gleams dangerously in the candlelight.

Oh fuck, it’s covered in blood.

Grantaire’s blood.

There’s a large gash on Grantaire’s naked thigh, bleeding steadily.

“Okay, I’m not even going to get started in all the ways that is wrong.” I say, eyes flitting back to Grantaire, who is still screaming against the gag.

“Oh, it’s alright, I can clean up the blood. I’ve already started collecting some for you. Is he a virgin?” Montparnasse holds up a jar, also full of blood.

Is that blood on Montparnasse’s lips?

“What am I even supposed to say to that?”

“You said you like spells and things.” Montparnasse pouts. “So I googled-”

The door bursts open, and our entire friend group barges in.

Bahorel is at the front, and he quickly assesses the situation and pulls Montparnasse into a headlock.

The knife clatters to the floor, dangerously close to Grantaire’s face.

Feuilly and Enjolras both drop to their knees at Grantaire’s side, tugging at the chains.

Combeferre frees Grantaire of the gag, Courfeyrac wraps me up in a hug, Bossuet scatters the pentagram, and Joly starts fussing over Grantaire’s cut leg.

“Jehan!” Montparnasse whines. “Baby, why are you doing this?”

“He said no, jackass.” Éponine says coldly, efficiently picking the locks on the chains.

“Also, none of this is romantic. Even if it were accurate at all.” Musichetta comments. “I’ll put up tea, Prouvaire.” She goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on.

“R, are you okay?” Enjolras asks anxiously.

“Fine, Apollo.” Grantaire says passively, but I can tell his voice is forced.

“You could’ve slit its throat, Jehan, I wasn’t going to take the fun part away from you.” Montparnasse croons again

“I’ll call Papa.” Cosette says tiredly. “Bahorel, hold him for now I guess. Papa’s boyfriend is a cop, he should be able to take care of this.”

“Éponine, c’mon…” Montparnasse says, his voice more desperate now.

“Shut up, ‘Parnasse.” Éponine sighs. “I’m so sorry about this, Jehan. He’s literally the worst.”

“You should be apologizing to me.” Grantaire huffs. “Enjolras, you better invite me to move in with you after this.”

“Definitely.” Enjolras agrees.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Joly says, voice shaking.

“Oh lord, there’s a jar of it.” Combeferre says. “We need to call a hospital-”

I collapse onto the couch.

“I need to cleanse the space.” I say, my throat tight. “Need-”

“I can do it, you need to rest.” Musichetta says, handing me a cup of tea.

“But-” I start to protest, but Courfeyrac wraps his arms around me.

I bury my face in his shoulder and cry.


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed (Blood Loss)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED   
> Blood Loss
> 
> POV Grantaire
> 
> why do i put montparnasse in every chapter i dont know
> 
> warnings: blood, knife, grantaires insecurities

I spit blood right in Montparnasse’s face.

“Fuck!” He cries out, flinching back, rubbing at his eyes.

I can’t help but smile at the pain I’ve caused him.

“You’ll pay for that, whore.” Montparnasse snarls, and he slashes at me with his knife again.

I can’t hold back the scream this time as the metal digs into my shoulder.

Montparnasse laughs, and he drags the knife slowly out of my flesh.

“This a fun Friday night for you?” I ask, voice rough.

“Oh, yes.” Montparnasse grins. “It’s such a wonderful way to get at your precious Enjolras, who still refuses to pay me for the ammunition I gave him.”

“Of course.” I grunt. “You realize he won’t care when I stop showing up to meetings? It’s not like he’ll try and find my body.”

“I’m not killing you, idiot.”

“I’m the idiot?”

“You got drunk enough to let yourself be followed back to your own flat and locked inside.”

“And you’re crazy enough to follow me home. You really like me that much?” I try for a cocky smirk, but the pain is too blinding for me to really make it convincing.

“You think too low of me.” Montparnasse says, lips curling in disgust. “Do you really think anyone would want you? Your Enjolras only pities you, you should know. And I followed you because I know his righteous little heart will feel so guilty at being the cause of your suffering that he’ll give me my money.”

I lower my head at the words, hating how true I know they are, and Montparnasse laughs again.

“Don’t worry, he’ll stop by soon to bring you the coat you left at the Musain. I don’t think you’ll bleed out before then.” Montparnasse says casually.

I don’t bother asking how he knows that.

There’s one final slash of the knife across my cheek, and Montparnasse is gone.

I’m left on my floor, bleeding, waiting for the promise of the man who tortured me for help to come.


	11. Psych 101 (Defiance, Struggling, Crying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 11. PSYCH 101   
> Defiance | Struggling | Crying
> 
> Combeferre's POV
> 
> Combeferre, Enjolras, and Grantaire are captured at the barricade.
> 
> warnings for: blood, swearing, beating

“If you truly value his life you’ll shut your mouth.” The guard snaps.

Enjolras roars in fury again, and I can see his muscles tensing, preparing to lunge.

I do the only thing I can do, I grab him.

I pinion Enjolras’ arms behind him and trap him close to my body.

I can feel him struggling against me, but I don’t budge, even when he elbows me hard.

“Combeferre, let go!” He shrieks, but I simply tighten my grip.

My eyes lock with Grantaire’s across the room, and he smiles gratefully at me.

I manage a stoic nod back, even as Enjolras keeps writhing in my arms.

I keep my focus on Enjolras as the guardsman starts beating Grantaire, recklessly and mercilessly.

The guard is saying things I think, and I’m assuming Grantaire is snarking back, but I can’t hear over Enjolras sobbing and swearing into my ear.

I hold tight to Enjolras, trying not to let my tears spill over and join his.

It seems to go on forever, the constant blows that rain down upon Grantaire, but it finally ends.

The guard leaves, locking the cell door, and I let go of Enjolras.

He trips over himself trying to get to Grantaire, and I calmly move to the man on the floor.

I have to stay calm, it’s my job to.

“Grantaire.” I say, not sure what else I can say.

“Hey ‘Ferre.” He replies weakly. He tries to sit up, but I gently shove him back down.

“I need to check your injuries.” I say. “How are you feeling?”

Grantaire laughs at that, which I suppose I can’t blame him for.

“Yeah, well-” I start to say, but suddenly Enjolras’ hands are on my shoulders, shoving me aside.

“Grantaire.” He gasps. “I’m sorry, I tried, I tried to get him to hurt me instead, R, I’m sorry-”

“Apollo.” Grantaire says softly. “I would take any pain for you.”

“I could’ve taken it, could’ve saved you, if Combeferre hadn’t-” Enjolras is rushing through his words, barely coherent, the tears are streaming freely down his face.

“I am grateful to Combeferre.” Grantaire says. “He saved your idiotic self sacrificing arse from dying.”

“But I should’ve-” Enjolras starts again, and I move back to Grantaire’s side, hands examining his ribs.

“Hate me if you wish, Enjolras, but I saved your life. We’re going to die, but I’d rather it be by a bullet than bleeding out. Grantaire can survive this, it would kill you slower than I could bear to watch.” I say, trying to keep my words from being sharp.

It’s not Enjolras’ fault he is upset, and he’s not truly upset at me, it’s the stress of the situation and the fact that Grantaire is hurt and that our revolution went so terribly, terribly wrong.

“I’m not weak.” Enjolras spits at me.

“I know.” I say.

“I-When they were going to shoot me-” Enjolras chokes. “One of them said-Said- ‘It appears I’m about to shoot a flower.’ And-And then R-And they took us-And you-”

Grantaire places a gentle hand on Enjolras’.

“You are not weak, Apollo.” He says, voice grating harshly. “Ow, shouldn’t have shouted so much… Couldn’t resist telling him to fuck off though.”

I pull off my shirt and wrap it around Grantaire’s bleeding torso, and he flinches a little but lets me.

Enjolras wipes the tears from his eyes, and I try for a small smile at him.

He takes my hand in the one not holding Grantaire’s.

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras whispers.

“It’s alright.” I say, squeezing his hand. “They will shoot us soon, I hope. I think they must realize we won’t give in.”

“And what is greater than that?” Grantaire grins.

“To be free.” Enjolras replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the quote about shooting a flower is real, and its one of my favorite quotes from the brick! thank you victor hugo for that


	12. I Think I've Broken Something (Broken Trust)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING  
> Broken Trust
> 
> POV: Grantaire
> 
> warnings: swearing, non graphic mentions of torture

“I trusted you!” I shout angrily.

“Grantaire, I didn’t-” Enjolras starts to say, but I turn away.

“We all trusted you.” I hiss. “You started all this, and we followed you. All so you could trap us.”

“My father-” Enjolras starts again, but Combeferre is quick to come to my aid.

“You can come back to torture us later.” He says calmly. “Tell your father to go to Hell, why don’t you?”

It’s Combeferre’s death glare that manages to drive Enjolras out of the dungeon, and when Enjolras is finally gone I sink to the floor.

“I can’t believe it.” I say numbly, my throat going tight.

The initial anger of it all was enough to keep me from crying, but now that Enjolras is gone all I’m left with is the dread and feeling of utter stupidity.

“To think of all those times he criticized the royals when he is the prince himself.” Feuilly huffs.

“He wouldn’t hurt us.” Courfeyrac insists. “It’s his father the king, I know Enjolras would never-”

“Courf.” Combeferre says softly, placing a gentle hand on his lover’s shoulder. “We are in the palace dungeon because we were captured by the royal guard at our barricade. Our barricade led by Enjolras, who was just recently revealed as the crown prince. We’re likely to be tortured and hanged. Whether or not Enjolras intended for our revolution to fail, it still stands that he knew the consequences well!”

Joly flinches at the sudden increase of Combeferre’s volume, something no one misses.

“I didn’t mean to snap, I just-” Combeferre stammers.

“This is what the king wants.” Bahorel grunts, and suddenly we’re all talking over each other.

Everyone is trying to make their own separate points, Courfeyrac and Combeferre are arguing, Jehan is reciting poetry, and I really wish I had a drink.

I sit back against the wall, close my eyes, and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know all of these chapters are super short, and im trying not to guilt myself about that. i want to keep this fun for me, and even if im not writing a lot every day im still writing, and im proud of that. so yeah, some of these chapters will be super short, but thats ok. this is to get ideas out of my brain and be creative and project a bit of how shitty i feel into my favorite characters.
> 
> thank you again for reading, i really appreciate it.


	13. Breathe In, Breathe Out (Delayed Drowning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT   
> Delayed Drowning
> 
> Grantaire's POV
> 
> warnings: torture, drowning

I gasp as my head is shoved under the freezing water yet again, the icy liquid streaming through my nose and mouth and filling my lungs.

My head is pulled up again, sopping wet hair clinging to my face, and I cough harshly, expelling as much water from my mouth as I can.

“I’ll give you nothing.” I gasp.

The men holding me growl, and shove my head under again.

As always, my thoughts turn to Enjolras.

Would he be proud I’m doing this for him?

Proud I refuse to break?

I almost want to laugh, if not for the fact that I’m submerged in water.

These men, whoever they are, won’t get anything from me.

Certainly not anything that would betray Enjolras.

They’re doing this for nothing, if only they knew.

They pull my head up again, and I think I choke out an insult.

I’m not sure, all my head is filled with is Enjolras.

Enjolras, my beautiful Apollo, will he even know what I suffered through for him?

Would he care?

I know the thoughts are unproductive, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Enjolras is all I need, knowing I could carry just one scrap of his affection, even in death, would be a blessing.

He told me I am incapable of thinking, of willing, of believing, of living, of dying.

I smile as the water chokes me again.

He will see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, and its a day late. im kinda losing motivation, but still keeping going.


	14. Is Something Burning? (Branding)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING?   
> Branding
> 
> POV: Grantaire
> 
> warnings: branding, montparnasse creepiness
> 
> dont ask me what au this is i dont know

“No, stop, you can’t!” Enjolras screams, and I wince at the way his voice cracks.

He usually sounds so commanding, so in control.

Montparnasse’s laugh rings through the air, and I suddenly feel white hot pain right over my heart.

The metal is pressed right up to my skin, glowing red, and I swear I can see smoke rising around it.

I scream, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling my nostrils, my flesh, that's my skin burning under Montparnasse’s fireplace poker, those are my tears sizzling on the metal as I sob through the pain.

My ears are ringing when Montparnasse finally gives me reprieve, slowly pulling the metal away from my skin, and I can hear Enjolras screaming through the dull buzz in my eardrums.

I look down at my chest, where the poker was, and there’s a large ‘M’ burned into my skin, right over my heart.

Montparnasse strokes a finger over the tender skin, and I cry out again in pain.

It hurts, it hurts so fucking much.

“What do you think, Enjy?” Montparnasse trills, and he grabs Enjolras by a handful of his hair and yanks him off the ground, pulling him to get a closer look at me.

My cheeks burn in shame.

Enjolras only cries harder.

“The burn matches his collar so nicely.” Montparnasse croons, now using his free hand to stroke the red leather collar around my throat, and when Enjolras whimpers he pulls tight on it, knocking the breath out of me.

I choke, trying to get some air into my lungs, but Montparnasse holds tight.

“I l-like it s-sir.” Enjolras stammers.

“Good boy.” Montparnasse says approvingly. “Since it turned out so well, he won’t need a shirt anymore. Don’t want to cover up my gorgeous mark.”

Montparnasse lets go of my collar, and I draw in quick, shaky breaths.

“I think that you’ve learned your lesson for today.” Montparnasse says.

He drops Enjolras and rises gracefully to his feet, brushing off his trousers as he does.

“You are permitted to clean the wound. Neither of you are permitted to drink a single drop of this, it is only so the mark doesn’t get infected.” Montparnasse says, and he tosses a bottle of wine down to Enjolras.

Enjolras scrambles to catch it.

“I expect you to show your gratitude when I return in the morning.” Montparnasse finishes with a wolfish grin.

After one last smirk at me, he turns on his heel and leaves, locking the door soundly behind him.

Enjolras and I are alone again.


	15. Into The Unknown (Posessesion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN   
> Possession
> 
> pov: grantaire
> 
> warnigns for mentions of violence and murder

“Enjolras, what the hell are you doing?” I shriek, quickly backing away.

He continues to advance closer, eyes glowing a horrifying red, lips curled into a terrible smile that is not his own.

“Enjolras isn’t here right now.” Enjolras giggles.

“Who are you then?” Combeferre demands.

Enjolras giggles again, the sound sickening.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, darling. At least it won’t matter soon, since you’ll all be dead.”

I’m starting to hate that fucking giggle.

“Leave the body of Enjolras, now.” Jehan says, his voice trembling.

“No, sweetheart.” Not Enjolras says, his voice sing-songy now. “I’m thinking I’ll kill the Grand R first, although little Prouvaire is annoying too. I’ll slit Courfeyrac’s throat maybe, he’s always feared that.”

“You don’t have to kill us.” I say, trying to keep my voice level. Enjolras is a breath away from me now. “We could, uh, negotiate.”

“Is there something you want? Specifically? Other than us dead?” Feuilly asks tentatively.

“Hmm…” Enjolras seems to consider a moment. “No.”

And he strikes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not proud of this chapter but whatever
> 
> im on tumblr now! @fandomtrashiness


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Forced to beg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY   
> Forced to Beg
> 
> pov: grantaire
> 
> warnings for: creepiness

“Hmm…” Montparnasse considers. “Maybe if you beg nice and pretty I’ll oblige your request.”

“I-” I glance over to Enjolras’ unconscious body, his curls spread out like a golden halo behind his head. “P-please.” I manage. “Hurt me instead.”

“I’m not quite convinced.” Montparnasse says lazily.

“Please, don’t hurt him.” I flinch as my voice cracks. “You can’t-”

“I can.” Montparnasse cuts in. “I’ve proven I can do whatever I want, and if it so pleases me to hurt Enjolras, I will.”

“Please.” I say weakly.

“I saved your lives, and this is the thanks you show me? I could’ve left you both to die at that idiotic barricade.” Montparnasse is advancing on Enjolras again.

“We would’ve rather died!” I cry out in anger.

“If you’re going to be like that, I’ll do what I want.” Montparnasse says simply, and grabs a handful of Enjolras’ hair, starting to tug.

“Please!” I wail. “Please, hurt me instead! Please, hurt me, I’m begging you!”

“Better.” Montparnasse smiles, and I see his fist loosen.

“I w-want it. I need it, please. Please hurt me, Montparnasse.” I stammer, feeling my throat tighten with the words.

I hear Enjolras groan in pain from the floor, he must be waking up.

I can’t let the tears spill over, not in front of him.

“Aw, is someone jealous?” Montparnasse teases. “You want all the attention to yourself?”

“Y-yes.” I say. “Please, don’t hurt Enjolras.”

“You do look so lovely begging like this…” Montparnasse drawls. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

I grit my teeth and obey.

“Good boy.” Montparnasse says approvingly.

“No, ‘Taire…” Enjolras mumbles drowsily.

“P-please don’t listen to him, Montparnasse. Please. Hurt me.” I choke out, barely holding in tears now.

“Oh how I love that sound…” Montparnasse sighs dreamily, now stepping towards me. “Cry for me and I'll go easy on you.”

I manage to shake my head, but a small whimper still escapes my throat.

“Fine. More fun for me.” Montparnasse smiles, and he draws a thin silver knife.

I close my eyes and tense my shoulders, trying to prepare.

“Eyes on me.” Montparnasse commands.

I slowly peek my eyes open.

“Let’s have some fun now…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr, @fandomtrashiness


	17. I Did Not See That Coming (Dirty secret, blackmail)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING   
> Blackmail | Dirty Secret
> 
> pov: grantaire
> 
> technically this chapter is not late because i still have 6 minutes before october 18

I’m leaving the Musain after the night’s meeting when it happens.

A shadow shoves me against a wall, quicker than I can react to.

The figure seems to be cloaked in shadows, even in the dim light of the street lanterns.

I squint a little, and see his face is covered by a mask.

The mask is dark, and allows really only his full lips to be seen, other than those deep brown eyes behind the mask.

“Who are you?” I stammer.

“They call me Claquesous.” He says, his voice a flowing river.

“What does the Patron-Minette want with me?” I ask, recalling something Éponine once said about one of her father’s friends that always wears a mask.

“I know your little secret, R.” Claquesous purrs. “Your crush.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say stiffly, trying to sidestep, but Claquesous simply slides in front of me again, a hand suddenly pinning my shoulder to the wall.

“I do. Your Apollo, your golden statue, your muse, your one love, need I go on?” Claquesous is quoting me directly, how does he know I’ve said these things of Enjolras?

“You have no proof.” I blurt out.

“Relax, R.”

This stranger has no right to call me that.

“I’d like to strike up a little deal.”

“No.” I say immediately.

The pressure on my shoulder increases.

“Then you want your whole little group of revolutionaries to know of your carnal desires for your leader?”

“I-” I don’t know what to say to that. Of course they can’t know, but a deal with the Patron-Minette?

“Or do you want all of Paris to know you’re a sodomite? I’m sure your father wouldn’t be happy to hear that.”

“My father-”

“I expect you at the Cafe Chantage tomorrow at eight.” Claquesous whispers in my ear. “Or your little secret will be spilled.”

And he’s gone, only the ghost of his touch lingering.


	18. Panic! At The Disco (Panic attack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO   
> Panic Attacks
> 
> pov: grantaire
> 
> warnings for self harm and blood and self hatred

Shit.

Not here, not now.

My hands are shaking, my leg is pumping up and down underneath the table.

I curl my hands into fists, fingernails digging into my palms, and the pain grounds me, but only a little.

My head is spinning, every noise around me is amplified.

I can’t freak out now, I can’t.

Enjolras is in the middle of the speech, I can’t flip out and disturb it, especially after I already pissed him off today.

Oh God, where did all the air go?

I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe.

I’m inhaling, I’m sure I am, but nothing is entering my lungs.

Fuck, why can’t I just breathe?

Why can’t I be fucking normal?

I look around the back room of the Musain, still dizzy, to see if anyone is looking at me.

Good, they’re all focused on Enjolras.

I subtly move my hand as if I’m scratching my head and tug on my hair.

The pain does nothing, it wasn’t hard enough.

I glance around again and take a bigger risk.

I smack myself, and that actually starts to do something.

Doesn’t help all the way, but a few more smacks will.

At least for a little.

I raise my hand again, but it’s suddenly stopped.

Someone’s fingers clasped around my wrist, wrenching my hand away from my head.

Fucking damnit.

Why did this have to happen during a meeting?

Now they’re all going to worry and Enjolras is going to be mad I disturbed the meeting.

“Stop.” The firm command comes from Enjolras, and I realize the one who grabbed me must be Apollo himself.

I glance up from my bloody palm, the one I dug my fingernails into, into those gorgeous blue eyes.

All I can see is blue, and suddenly it doesn’t really matter anymore that I can’t breathe.

The world is blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two days late with a short and shitty chapter. sorry folks. thank you for reading as always, im trying to stay motivated but this shit hard.


	19. Broken Hearts (Grief, mourning a loved one, survivor's guilt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 19. BROKEN HEARTS   
> Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt
> 
> pov: marius
> 
> warnings: blood, mentions of death

I sit in the Musain, the back room empty, torn pages of documents and maps scattered across the floor, splattered with blood.

The blood of my friends.

As I cry, I find myself idly lifting my cane and tapping the end of it to the tip of my nose.

Joly used to do that, whenever he had an idea or made a pun.

My throat feels tight, I think I’ve been crying for a few hours now.

I can see their faces, feel them all around me.

I can hear Grantaire’s laugh, feel Bahorel’s arm around my shoulders.

I pick up a paper from the floor, there’s a bullet hole right through it.

It’s someone’s notes about Napoleon.

My tears mix with the blood on the page as I remember my argument with Combeferre.

Is it his blood I am touching?

I let the paper flutter to the floor.

Why was I chosen among them to live?

I am undeserving.

Enjolras, with his grand ideas, should've lived instead of me.

Or L’aigle, he had the kindest heart, even with his luck. Without him I would’ve been tossed out of law school, and his kindness was paid with death.

Or Prouvaire, he was so young. With his poems and flowers, who could murder such a sweet soul?

It should have been anyone but me.

I did nothing for the revolution, why was I the one chosen to live?

“Marius.” The voice of Cosette snaps me out of my reverie, her kind smile reaching past the ghostly visions of my friends, her hand reaching out to me. I take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, this chapter is really late. i do still plan on finishing the challenge, but ive got mental health shit im dealing with so i dunno if ill be posting every day. thanks for sticking with me.


	20. Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore (Medieval)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE   
> Medieval
> 
> pov: grantaire
> 
> warnings: hanging, shackles

“It’s time.” The guard says, opening the cell door. He hauls me to my feet, shackles clanging around my wrists and ankles.

I follow him numbly up all the staircases and down the fancy hallways, and I can hear servants whispering as I’m led past them.

I am led to the gallows, and I feel dread pool in my stomach as I look up from my feet and see the huge crowd gathered in front of the stage.

There’s hollering and jeering, but I don’t need to hear to know what they’re saying.

Traitor, string him up, spill the blood, shit like that.

My eyes find focus at the front of the crowd, where I see my friends.

Bahorel has his arms around Éponine, and I can see the tears on his cheeks. Musichetta is holding the hands of Joly and Bossuet, all three of them grim-faced. Valjean is there too, standing protectively behind Marius and Cosette, who are wrapped in each other’s arms.

The guard shoves me rather roughly up the steps onto the stage, and I trip a little over the manacles on my ankles.

And as I straighten my body, my eyes fall upon the royals’ viewing stand.

The king I couldn't give two shits about, what makes me wince is Enjolras.

Enjolras, sitting regally upon the throne of the crown prince, jewels amongst his blonde curls, looking absolutely stunning in his nicest suit.

I can’t read his expression, as always.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are stationed next to him, Combeferre holding his untouched glass of wine and Courfeyrac hovering a parasol over his head.

They both betray a bit of emotion upon meeting my eyes, but Enjolras simply looks blank as we make eye contact.

It’s frustrating as all hell.

The guard steps away now that I’m on that dreaded platform, the raised bit of wood on the platform.

I am now facing Javert, who pulls the noose roughly over my neck, intentionally avoiding my eyes.

He tightens it, just so I can feel the pressure, and the frayed rope digs painfully into my skin.

I try and lift my head high, knowing all eyes of the kingdom are upon me.

This is why I got arrested in the first place, isn’t it?

To be a martyr?

To die for the cause?

But really my death won’t do anything.

My friends will maybe gain some momentum, but the revolution won’t truly advance.

I was hoping Enjolras would at least give me some sort of clue that he has a plan, or that he feels guilty, or that he still loves me, but no.

I see Javert’s hand on the lever out of the corner of my eye, and realize the king won’t be offering me last words.

“Vive la republique!” I cry out, knowing I have but seconds to give my stance to the people, to send my final message.

And as the floor drops from beneath my feet, I see Enjolras spring up from his throne, brandishing a sword.


	21. I Don't Feel So Well (Infection)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL   
> Infection
> 
> pov: grantaire
> 
> warnings: bullet wounds, blood, implied death

“Stay still!” Joly urges frantically, and I wince as his hands fly over my wound again.

“Joly, the bullet is in my fucking leg, at this point you can’t do much.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Look at the coloration, it’s infected! I need to clean it so you don’t die, R.”

I bite back a cry as Joly shifts my leg, knowing arguing won’t do much good.

It’s not worth pointing out that regardless of the infection I’m going to die anyways.

We both are, we have at most five minutes until the guardsmen find us.

We’re not making it out of this alive.

“It’s ok R, it’ll be okay…” Joly mumbles.

“Oh I really don’t think it will be.” A smooth voice drawls.

Both my and Joly’s heads snap up, there’s a national guardsman standing in the doorway.

He lifts his rifle, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

The last thing I hear is Joly’s scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im doing my best, and yknow what some of these chapters are gonna be short as fuck but whatever. hope youre enjoying!


	22. Do these tacos taste funny to you? (Drugged)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU?   
> Drugged
> 
> pov: enjolras
> 
> warnings for: non consensual drug use, creepy montparnasse

“I think that’s a fair point-” I’m telling Combeferre as the door to the back room opens again.

I’m expecting it to be Grantaire, he’s the only one not here yet, but I was expecting him to be in the company of a bottle, not another person.

Strolling alongside Grantaire is a tall, lean man, with dark hair and darker eyes.

He seems to be escorting Grantaire, the cynic, on his arm.

“Hello all.” The man drawls, smiling.

I don’t trust that smile.

“Ooh, who’s this R?” Courfeyrac asks, and I want to kick him.

“This is Monty.” Grantaire says shyly, which is definitely wrong.

Grantaire is not shy.

Maybe he’s sober?

No, he’s sitting down now and I can see that he’s swaying, leaning on ‘Monty’ for support, and that his eyes are dull and unfocused. Not sober.

“And you’re together?” I ask, not able to resist.

“Yes. I’m Montparnasse.” The man says smoothly, not breaking eye contact with me.

I straighten my waistcoat and huff.

I’m not jealous, I just don’t like the vibes of Grantaire’s new partner.

“I’ll start the meeting then.” I say stiffly.

And I start my speech, but I can’t seem to look away from Grantaire.

He’s fully leaning on Montparnasse, and doesn’t seem to be focusing at all.

“Grantaire!” I snap. “Don’t you have anything to add?”

I don’t know if him arguing with me or him ignoring me is worse, honestly.

“Hm?” He looks around, dazed, then his eyes finally fix on me. “Jolras…” He mumbles.

I roll my eyes at that. “Meeting adjourned.” I say quickly, done with whatever game Grantaire is playing on me tonight.

“You alright?” Combeferre asks, pulling me aside.

“Grantaire is acting strangely.” I say, gaze falling on the cynic again. He was glancing at me I thought, but Montparnasse quickly turned his attention back to himself with a crudely placed hand.

“You’re jealous?” Courfeyrac teases.

“No! I am not. Just concerned.”

“They seem to be getting on fine.” Courfeyrac chuckles. “R seems to be enjoying himself immensely-”

“Enjolras is right. Something’s off.” Combeferre agrees, his eyes fixed on Grantaire now as well.

“His pupils are too small and his breathing is too slow.” Joly notes. “Ferre, I think he’s been to an opium den.”

“You thought you had the plague last week.” I say dismissively. “He’s-”

“Of course I can take you home,  _ pet _ .” Montparnasse couldn’t have been talking above a whisper, but it sounds like thunder in my ears.

I’m in front of Grantaire and Montparnasse the moment they’re standing up, seeing red.

“Don’t you dare call him that.” I say, voice quaking with fury.

“Goes against your equality of man?” Montparnasse sneers. “He likes it, Apollo.”

“R?” Bossuet asks nervously.

“Hm?” Grantaire mumbles, looking up from his feet. “Monty?”

Bahorel raises his fists. “You have five seconds to let go of Grantaire.” He snarls at Montparnasse.

“You’re all being ridiculous.” Montparnasse scoffs. “He’s happy-”

Bahorel punches him in the jaw.

Joly and Combeferre rush to catch Grantaire, who collapses without the weight of Montparnasse to support him.

“Shit, shit…” Joly is muttering, feeling for Grantaire’s pulse.

“Bahorel, take this trash outside.” I say, gesturing to the unconscious Montparnasse.

“On it, chief.” Bahorel nods.

“Monty…” Grantaire mumbles.

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels unfinished but at this point im stressed i wont finish before the end of october so heres too rushed a version of what i wanted for this. writers block sucks, homies. trying to get past it and just write.


	23. NOT A CHAPTER

hi folks! this is not a chapter, just an author's update. so i'm struggling, and as much as i'd love to get every chapter out tomorrow i just can't. i'm still on day 23, and i want to put everything i have into each chapter. i don't want to rush things. i'm gonna try and post quickly, but we'll see how my creativity flows. i write whump to cope with all the shitty stuff in life, and even though there's no shortage of shitty stuff in my life i just have been blocked up with writing. thank you for understanding, and if you want feel free to drop a whumpy concept in the comments! i'll see if i can work it into a day!


	24. What's a whumpee gotta do to get some sleep? (Exhaustion, sleep deprivation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?   
> Exhaustion | Sleep Deprivation
> 
> Return of the vampire au from chapter 2!!!!
> 
> POV: Grantaire
> 
> basically enj has been out so r has been alone at the mercy of enj's father.
> 
> Warnings for: slavery, abuse of power, hitting

Smack!

My eyes jolt open.

“I wasn’t- ‘M sorry-” I mumble.

“You know the rules. Or at least I thought you did.” Enolras’ father says sternly.

“I’ve been up all day-”

“I don’t care.” Comes the harsh retort. “I gave you a very simple task, did I not? To clean this manor from head to toe. Your Master is returning to you after a weeklong journey and this is the thanks you offer? Sleeping instead of preparing for his arrival? And he’ll be bringing guests too, you dare to make your Master look bad in front of them?”

“Sir-” I try to plead, but Enjolras’ father backhands me again.

“You’ve barely done half the work I asked of you. Does your Master not keep you in line?”

“He does, he does!” I insist, wincing a little. Enjolras said that above all else I mustn't let his father know about us, our relationship, the kind way he treats me.

His father believes I am Enjolras’ bloodslave and nothing more, and he would take me away from Enjolras if he knew of our love.

“Well maybe you need a reminder of your place, slave.” Enjolras’ father spits at me. “You will kneel outside, in the cold, and wait for your Master to return. If you fall asleep, it will be quite obvious, and when he returns, and he will make sure you pay dearly. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I start to crawl away, just eager to get away from Enjolras’ father, even if it means kneeling in the cold on hard stones.

“Leave your robe.” Enjolras’ father commands. “Maybe the cold will keep you awake.”

With trembling hands, I let the thin robe that serves as my clothes (when I’m not alone in Enjolras’ room that is) fall to the floor, leaving me completely, vulnerably, naked.

My face burns in shame as I exit the room, I can feel Enjolras’ father’s eyes upon me the whole way.

And it is fucking cold outside, the air biting at my bare skin. At least it will keep me from slipping up and falling asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i just love the vampire au tbh so there might be more chapters continuing it! (probably with ferre and courf too)


	25. You're Not Making Any Sense (Blindfolded)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE   
> Blindfolded
> 
> warnings: implied death

“You are entitled to a blindfold.” The guardsman says, and Enjolras straightens his posture at that.

He’s offended.

“I’ll piss on your blindfold.” I spit out harshly, and I see a grin curl across Enjolras’ perfect lips beside me.

My gaze does not stray from Apollo, so I don’t see the reaction of the guard, but I imagine it’s something of a mix between shock and disgust.

“Very well.” The guard’s stiff voice says. “Men! Ready!”

My shoulders tense as I hear their guns clicking, aiming right at our hearts.

I can see the silver of the bayonets shining in Enjolras’ crystal blue eyes.

This could be the last time I see them.

Enjolras gave me his nod of approval at my silent question earlier, to let me stand next to him, to die with him, but perhaps he would allow more?

I tentatively reach my hand out closer to Enjolras’, staring into his eyes.

“Do you permit it?” I ask softly.

Enjolras smiles at me, directing the force of the sun right at me, he’s smiling at  _ me _ , and he takes my hand.

The warmth of Enjolras’ hand filling mine, grasping it tightly.

I lift my chin high, my last gaze of my dearest Apollo complete, and turn my eyes to the national guardsmen.

I am Hycanthius, in my full glory, beside Apollo.

I am radiant, powerful, beloved.

“Fire!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not technically blindfolded, but i had to include the "iconic" line from bbc roger davies' les mis.


	26. I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks (Disorientation, blurred vision, ringing ears)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS   
> Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears
> 
> grantaire's pov
> 
> more vampire au!

“Perfectly fine…” I slur out, swaying slightly. “You hear that…?”

There’s a ringing all around me, just sort of dull and in the background.

My vision is foggy too, but it goes nicely with how everything in my sight is swirling around.

“Uh, no, Grantaire. I don’t hear that.” Combeferre says, an edge to his voice. “I think you should try laying down, let me help you-”

“Stop!” I command. “Enjy-Enjolras said to wait up for him. He’d be… five minutes! Five minutes, he said. He’ll be right here to take care of me and let me drink from him and cuddle me and tell me he never meant any of it.”

“R, tell me what happened.” Combeferre says firmly.

I laugh, he has three eyes, all of them shrouded in a purple mist.

“His father was there, and told Enjolras he needed to punish me, and then…” Combeferre steadies me as I tilt dangerously, and I think maybe my words are blending together from the look on his face. “So he drank, he bit my neck and drank, and it was lovely…” I sigh, remembering the bliss. “But he drank more than I could give, since his father was watching… And then I was ordered back here, Enjolras’ father wanted to speak to him about something… And then I found you!”

“R, let me help you sit, at the very least. Enjolras will come get you the very same.”

The world spins around me again, so I let Combeferre lead me into Enjolras’ bedchamber and settle me upon one of his plush velvet chairs.

“Enjy will be back soon…” I hum happily, thinking of the sweet blood he’ll let me drink.

He’ll stroke my hair and whisper nice things into my ear about how special I am, how much he loves me, how intelligent I am, how brave, how compassionate…

“Grantaire! Can you hear me?” Combeferre’s desperate voice calls from far away.

I open my eyes, not realizing they had slipped shut.

Ah, there’s Combeferre, he’s right in front of me.

He’s holding something out…

I blink a few times to clear the smudges away.

His wrist!

“Drink, please? You’re almost drained.” Combeferre pleads.

I turn my head away stubbornly.

“Want Enjy’s blood.”

“He’ll understand if you drink from me to keep from passing out-”

“No!” I insist.

“Grantaire, you’re so pale, I can smell how weak you are-”

I don’t hear what else he has to say on the subject, because I’m suddenly drifting away on a nice cloud, surrounded by nice, peaceful darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Whumptober! I'm gonna tell you now, this will probably be 31 days of hurting Grantaire. Leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed, they mean the world to me!
> 
> And most of all, thanks for reading! <3


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